Lady in Rags

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Fortune from Misfortune

It took Verity nearly an hour to get ready to leave. She had to wash before she could begin to dress. She was stained with the sweat of days and nights of soul-fevered torment. Her hair was tangled and greasy. There was no time to wash it. She had Mrs Roper tie it back in a severe bun. Her face, when she looked in the mirror, seemed almost alien to her. The cheekbones were too sharp. There were lines around her eyes that had never been there before, and deep shadows beneath them. She looked ten years older than she was. She felt a hundred. But the red silk dress sheathed her like armour, and her eyes, despite the lines around them, were full of the old and familiar fire.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"Lord Albroke?" Mrs Roper put a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, no, love, you should not see him. You're better off never knowing him."

Verity raised her gaze to Mrs Roper in the reflection of the mirror. Mrs Roper's pitying expression faltered a moment.

"He should still be in the library, I believe."

He was not in the library. But in the corridor, Verity heard the sound of a knife scraping against china, and the low murmur of male voices. She walked silently to just outside the open dining room door; out of sight, but not out of hearing.

"...doesn't go for much in this part of the country, of course. It's not a bad place he picked, but I don't expect much of it. Though perhaps it's best not to sell it for a year after all. I can dismiss the male servants, and save on taxes."

The voice was deep, and soft, and surprisingly smooth. There was no hint of gravel in it.

Lord Albroke.

Verity set her shoulders, and marched through the open door.

The three men in the room looked up as she entered. Identical expressions of surprise arose to their faces, and quickly dissolved into less similar emotions: anger, confusion, guilt.

Richard Armiger pushed back his chair, and clumsily stood. The other two remained sitting. They were strangers to her. One, with his faded ginger hair, was obviously no relation to the family. The other, hazel-eyed, dark-haired, and angry, had to be Lord Albroke.

It disturbed her that he looked so much like Neil. An older, balder, and larger version of Neil, but a version of him all the same. He had the same aggressive eyebrows as Neil, the same angular bones beneath his plumping jowls.

"I had rather hoped it was his mother he had taken after," she said pleasantly, by way of introduction. "But it seems he looks very much like you. A pity. But then his character, certainly that must have been his mother's. I do not believe it could have anything to do with you."

A faint and unpleasant smirk rose to Lord Albroke's lips. "If it had, we would not be in this thankless position today. For your part, I have some more understanding now. He was always a fool for beauty. A pity he never bothered to look deeper."

"You do not think I am as beautiful inside as out? But you hardly know me." She came forward, gave a brief and mocking curtsy, and sat down in one of the chairs, uninvited. It was a relief to her. They could not have seen how her legs were beginning to shake again under her skirts, but she could feel it. The half-eaten remains of their meal on the table made her stomach twist with hunger.

"And I wish to know you no better, I can assure you." The smirk rose and faded again. "When will you leave my house?"

"Today. My things are being put in the carriage right now." She looked at him evenly. "I take it I have your permission to use the carriage to aid me in quitting?"